Chapter Five
“But you’re okay with Boys having…uh…rewardswhen we’re Little?” Benji asks, biting his lip and frowning as he starts to walk. We take it slowly as we trudge towards the path leading to the cabins, and I can’t help but find his obvious effort to control himself adorable.
I generally prefer to negotiate kink play prior to my scene partners regressing, but sometimes in club situations —or places like this camp— it can’t be helped. The camp has already outlined specific rules for engaging in any kind of scenes here, including the standard use of the traffic-light safe word system, and consent is paramount regardless of headspace. So, because of that, I absolutely appreciate him checking in with me on my own limits, even if the question is clunkier and vaguer given his regressed state.
Offering him a crooked smile, I incline my head. “I’m perfectly okay with the idea of orgasms —or sex in general— in headspace, yes. My hard limits are scat play, CNC, and heavy impact or pain play. I’m more of a soft Daddy Dom.” The first line of cabins comes into view and his Adam’s apple bobs when we start to pass people on the path.
His cheeks are bright red, but his eyes are bright with genuine enjoyment. It’s not hard to put two and two together after his little stunt in front of the group. This Boy is into being embarrassed. Humiliated, even.
“What are your limits?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “About the same. I don’t like hurting or being scared. I also don’t like being tied up.”
I make a mental note of that. “Does that include handcuffs?”
“Yeah. Even if I trust the Daddy, it’s a hard no.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Benji nods, some of his blond hair flopping into his eyes. He blows it away, where it sticks to the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. “But I don’t mind blindfolds.”
I make a note of that, too. “Good to know.”
As we get even closer to the cabins, I ask which one he’s in, realizing that it’s easier to go to his cabin where his things are than to bring him to mine. It turns out, he’s only three cabins down the row from my own, and he tugs his key from his pocket with a quiet groan.
“Pants are clingy,” he explains.
“And you’re still close to coming?”
“Uh-huh.” The fingers on his free hand not clutching the key (which I also make a note to wash) twitch towards his crotch.
“Nope,” I tell him, ushering him inside the room that looks almost identical to my own, “I told you; I only let good boys come on my watch.”
His eyes shine with mischief. “That’s a weird flex. Won’t your watch get all sticky?”
It takes all my self-control not to chuckle at his cheek. As it is, a burst ofwantflashes through me, adding to the arousal I alreadyfeel from our interactions. The fact that he accidentally stumbled onto one of my biggest kinks while he was bratting was one thing, but his confidence —his unrepentant cheekiness— is also doing things to me.
And he notices.
Even though I don’t smile or laugh, I can tell that he knows I’m enjoying this. Enjoying him. His eyes widen and sparkle knowingly before he makes a show of glancing down at my crotch. Now that we’re alone and I’ve had time to really think about what has happened and how much I’ve liked it, my body’s reaction is far more noticeable, even under the long t-shirt.
“Looks like you’re just as excited as me, Counselor Kris.” Benji’s tone is playful and teasing. “Maybe you’ll get all sticky, too?”
“I’ve got better control than that, honey. Unlikesomepeople.” He bites his lip again and looks at the floor, the pink of his cheeks darkening once more. He squirms and his hand jerks towards his crotch again. “Uh-uh,” I reprimand. “I said no, Benjamin.”
“Fuck.”
Benji thrusts his hips minutely, humping at the air, maybe trying to use his sodden pants to get the friction he’s craving, but his movements halt as I step into his personal bubble and plant my hands on his hips.
“No coming,” I reiterate.
“You’re somean,” he complains.
Chuckling, I shake my head and peer into his eyes. I’m roughly the same height as him, maybe an inch or two taller, so we’re pretty much nose-to-nose. “I doubt you’ve ever been with a Daddy who would reward the kind of behavior from today.”
Because he can’t seem to help himself, or maybe he just doesn’t feel the need to pretend, he rolls his baby blues. “So? Ineedtocome.” As if to punctuate his point he rolls his hips forward just a tiny bit, just enough for his erection to brush against my own. His lips quirk wickedly and he leans in a bit harder. “Feels like you do, too.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of moaning or leaning into the temptation, but it’s a close thing. Even I can hear the strain in my voice when I reply, “You’ve got to earn it, honey.”
